


permit yourself anger and permit me mine

by ginnystar (ginny_star), MistressKat



Category: Robin Hood (BBC)
Genre: Fight Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-17
Updated: 2011-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-17 01:52:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginny_star/pseuds/ginnystar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/pseuds/MistressKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if that fight in episode 2.03 Child Hood had ended a little bit… different?</p>
            </blockquote>





	permit yourself anger and permit me mine

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that we wrote simply to amuse ourselves, exchanging sporadic comments in an episode reaction post and often abandoning it for weeks at a time. Yet it somehow managed to evolve into a fully-grown fic, which seemed worth sharing with the wider (and allegedly porn-starved) audience of RH fandom. We hope you have at least half as much fun reading the story as we had writing it. Many thanks go to our amazing betas [lolabobs](http://lolabobs.livejournal.com/) and [telynmurali](http://telynmurali.livejournal.com/) who helped to whip the fic into shape. The title comes from the poem [Is/Not](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/is-not/) by Margaret Atwood.

The contrast of the rich, decadent elegance of the room and the rough angry mauling they're giving each other isn’t lost on Robin. He’s mad, _furious,_ that Guy is in his room, in his home, and can’t stop lashing out at him, one arm curled protectively against the wooden box he came for. Guy shoves him against the bed post, the velvet curtains coming undone as Robin fights to free himself from them.

The heavy drapery traps their limbs in its intricate folds, and both men thrash like fish caught in the net, breathing coming faster and faster. Something rips, a soft buttery sound of rich fabric giving in, and Robin rolls to the side, disentangling his legs from the shreds. He tries to stand up but Guy is too quick, lunging after him, tackling them both back to the ground.

There are punches now, being thrown from one desperate man to another. Guy grabs hold of Robin’s face, steadying his target for his fist. His hand is splayed out across Robin’s cheek, dark leather contrasting with the pale skin. He squeezes tightly once, the skin beneath mottling red. His thumb slips between Robin’s lips as the other man tries to take in a heavy breath.

The slick dark taste of leather slides across Robin's mouth without his permission, and he snarls and spits, furious for that split second of weakness. Against him Guy is nothing but hard muscle and rage. They're rolling on the floor, fighting for the upper hand – and for something more than that too.

Each erratic jerk and movement of their bodies brings them into closer contact with one another, sick tension and rage building to a crescendo. The wooden box lies between them, its sharp corners biting into their flesh, an unwanted and uninvited presence. _The box_ , Robin thinks vaguely, _he needs_... He needs the box. He needs to get back to the forest, to plan, to—

Robin draws air in long harsh mouthfuls, fists curled in Guy's jacket. His teeth are bared, face twisted in anger, and Robin just wants to... _God_ , hit and kill and— The anger inside him finds an outlet as the flesh under his knuckles splits, blood staining Guy’s lips obscenely.

The pain only seems to fuel Guy's resolve rather than diminish it – if anything, his forceful grip seems even more focused and _pressing_ and it's with a low snarl that somehow, without Robin realising it, Guy’s the one above him now, and the box is long forgotten.

Guy punches him in the face, once, twice, three times, Robin's head snapping back and hitting the floor. Everything goes grey around the edges for a second and when he can see again, Guy's hands are around his throat. Robin plants his feet flat on the ground, bucks up against the body straddling his.

A low, keening growl that claws its way up from the back of Guy's throat could be due to frustration, but somehow Robin doubts it. In retaliation, Guy sinks his weight down into his hips and forces Robin down on the rough stone. It's enough to break the skin on Robin's neck, raw redness beginning to flare against the coarse string of his damned gang tag.

Robin twists his head to the side, sinking his teeth into the vulnerable inside of Guy's wrist. It's enough to loosen his grip and Robin takes the opportunity to rear up, knocking the other man flat on his back. He could get away then, _should_ get away, but instead he throws his leg over Guy's prone body, knees digging into his ribs. They're both bloody, clothes dirty with sweat and dust, and when Robin shifts lower, their hips slotting together like puzzle pieces, he realises that they're both hard too.

 _Hood,_ the ugly, triumphant look on Guy’s face seems to say, _never knew you had it in you._ Quite suddenly it's a different battle altogether, and they both know it. Mimicking Robin's earlier bucking movements, Guy roughly drags his hips against Robin's as his hand clamps down on a knee by his torso, the other gripping an arm tight enough to form bruises.

Robin narrows his eyes, but he can't help the startled gasp that escapes unbidden from his mouth. There's a short moment when both men freeze, teetering on the brink of indecision. _Are they really doing this? Are they really—_ Then Guy pulls Robin closer and he – goddammit all to hell – he rocks back into the sweet _wrong_ good, God _so_ _good_ , feel of hard flesh under him. Guy laughs, nasty and breathless and no, _no_ , this is _not_ how it's going to go down.

It's a mess of hate and lust and regret (not enough to stop him but it's there) that makes Robin smack Guy across the face. Not a punch, but an open-handed slap for maximum humiliation. Fresh blood seeps from Guy's split lip and without thinking about it Robin leans down and licks it off.

The sharp, bitter tang of Guy's blood on his tongue only seems to fuel Robin's anger ( _angerangeranger Christ only anger_ ) and he draws back, ready for another swing at Guy's sneering face. But before he has moved to do so, the hand Guy has been using to pin his knee is gone, only to slam onto Robin's neck, forcing him back down to the floor, nose clashing against his cheek.

It's not a kiss like those exchanged with Marian, all tender love and gentle sunshine – it's a rough, hateful bruising of lips and Robin sinks his teeth into Guy's lip. Almost involuntarily, Robin rocks into Guy, hissing as he does so. The gloved hand at the nape of his neck tightens.

Robin forces Guy's mouth open with his thumb, enough to push his tongue in and chase that taste of blood and hate deeper. He expects to get bitten but instead Guy just grunts, half surprise, half annoyance, and drags his own tongue over Robin's, a slow wet slide of flesh that makes them both moan and writhe.

But this isn't about feeling good (though it _does_ ) or making each other feel good (though they _do_ ) and Robin curls his fingers into the fastening of Guy's jacket and _pulls_ , scratching and tearing until he gets to skin. Not much, just a sliver of chest, sharp edges of collarbone peeking through the ripped fabric.

He scrabbles at Guy’s neck, nails drawing blood on contact to remind him that it's Robin damned _Hood_ (writhing, for God's sake, he’s _writhing_ ) on him and that this, like everything else between them is a game, a competition. For a second, Robin seems to have forgotten who is under him, and dragging his mouth away mere inches from Guy’s, he hisses an angry oath into his face, and it fans across his cheek.

The hand at Robin's neck forces itself down even further, choking him, making the edges of his vision blur slightly even as he gets a firmer grip on the collar of Guy's jacket. He begins to rip it, but is suddenly frozen in shock as Guy's other hand, still encased in that sickening black leather, finds its way under the waistband of Robin's trousers.

There are... fingers, blunt and merciless and leather-slick, digging into his hips, grazing the edge of pubic bone and God, God, _what are they doing?_ Robin feels his eyes go wide, his mouth falling open of its own accord and when Guy's gloved hand closes around his cock the feel of it bleeds out in a long raw moan that makes Guy's snarl grow smug and satisfied.

Guy’s other hand, wrapped around Robin's throat, relaxes incrementally. That's a mistake. Robin lets his legs fall open, winding his calves around Guy's and pushing up hard. The first two thrusts are for pleasure, but the third is for vengeance, a nasty sharp snap of his hips that dislodges Guy's grip, the momentum carrying them over until Robin is once more on top.

He doesn't waste time, bringing his fist back and delivering a glancing blow to Guy's mouth. It doesn't knock him out but it's enough to bloody, enough to slow him for the five crucial seconds it takes for Robin to yank open Guy's belt and work the tight leather trousers down his thighs.

Guy stiffens visibly at his sudden loss of control and he draws his fist back to send a firm punch into Robin's stomach, winding him in his outrage. He grabs onto Robin's hair and jerks him forward, their lips and teeth clashing with one another in an open-mouthed kiss, a fight for dominance.  
 **  
**Robin runs his tongue across the roof of Guy's mouth, swallowing the noise Guy makes as he does so, before drawing back with a hiss of his own, Guy's blood smearing his mouth and cheek. Guy bucks upwards, his arousal pressing against Robin's arse. _Clothes_ , there are too many clothes in the way and Robin slides callused fingers under Guy's jacket.

Goddamn fastenings, too many of them, and Robin's fingers are clumsy, scrabbling with the cords of Guy's jacket and trousers and he doesn't need him naked but he does need some fucking _skin_. And there, a long strip of bare chest and stomach, a light dusting of dark hair leading lower and Robin follows its path with his mouth, leaving pink trails of spit and blood after him.

Guy fists a hand in his hair, trying to push him down, but Robin bites his thigh in retaliation, hard and deep, before surging back up. This isn't about Guy's pleasure here, it's not about pleasure at all, not really, and when their hips grind together it's sharp enough to hurt and the pain feels like a victory.

Part of Robin is horrified; disgusted at what they're doing and aware of where they're doing it (the middle of the floor, in plain sight, anyone could walk in, _anyone_ ), but that part is small and getting smaller by the second.

The feel of Robin's trousers, taut and coarse against him seems to send a rush of anger shivering through Guy and it's enough to shove Robin backwards, his head smacking against the hard floor. For precious moments, Robin sees stars and is unable to stop Guy from lifting him up by the shirt and throwing him up against the nearest wall. Hands are scrabbling at Robin's waist, and Guy _pulls_ on the ties on his trousers. They're tight over Robin's sharp hip bones, sliding almost reluctantly until they pool around his knees. ****

 ****Guy huffs a short, nasty chuckle and his hand is suddenly not where it had been resting against Robin's stomach, but around his cock. The feel of the leather against him causes Robin to snap his head back against the wall, uncaring that it sends a wave of pain stabbing behind his eyes. He bucks involuntarily when Guy drags a thumb over the tip. It comes away slippery.

Robin can't help it. His body is moving independently from his mind, hips rolling forward obscenely and mouth dropping open, a wordless groan escaping into the heated space between their faces. Guy takes immediate advantage, crowding closer, pushing his tongue inside, the smell of leather and sweat almost overwhelming.

Guy is clearly expecting a fight, but Robin turns the tables on him, moaning into the kiss and yanking Guy flush against him, their legs winding together like branches of the same tree. This new acquiescence is not gentle, it's anything but, but it's enough to throw Guy off his stride, enough for Robin to squirm under his defences both figuratively and literally. He snakes his own hand between them, pulls Guy's cock out of his trousers, his movements fast and efficient.

At the first touch of flesh on flesh Guy sinks his teeth into Robin's neck, both of their hands tightening, fingers sliding over each other wetly. It's a joint grip they're thrusting into now, a mindless search for release, hate and anger melting into uncomplicated pleasure.

Guy’s knees are pressed hard against the stone wall, trapping Robin against him. There are scrapes on the skin at the small of Robin’s back from the rough surface but he doesn't fucking care, as long as Guy doesn't _stop_. Guy’s mouth burns a trail as it slides down from his neck, teeth scraping along his shoulder and one of them groans but Robin can’t tell if it’s him or Guy.

They're still lost in each others limbs, mindless pushes and pulls that neither of them can seem to stop, don't want to stop. The hold Robin has on Guy's hair is tight enough to be painful, but then again, so are the teeth marks on Robin's neck, throbbing in time with his heart.

Robin twists his head, his tongue dragging slowly against Guy's neck and chin. Almost lazily he pulls Guy into another kiss. They share the same breath, hot and heady and damn it all but there's a part of Robin that loves this and he _hates_ that he loves it.

It's too late to stop now. Robin thinks it's maybe been too late ever since that day in Locksley when he thought he'd come home only to find he'd come to fight another war. The expression on Guy's face is the same as it was then; a mixture of disdain and hatred and something edging close to awe or want. Robin swallows it all down, and in the end Guy's mouth tastes of nothing complicated or twisted, just spit and skin and a faint trace of venison.

Robin moves his hand faster, muscles burning. It’s all too much, too immediate; the rough stone under his back, the sharp ache of Guy’s teeth on his shoulder, the slick noise of their cocks sliding together.

Everything builds and builds and it's only a matter of— There's a hard spike of fear, like when riding into a battle and at the very last second before crashing into the enemy line you want nothing but be able to turn back. But it's too late, too late, you're already committed, the momentum carrying you through and over and Robin arches off the wall, a harsh broken moan ripping free.

Against him Guy comes in long violent shudders, the wetness between them spreading further.

Robin can guess what he looks like. There must be a myriad pattern of marks littering the skin under his mouth, red and stark amongst the freckles. They'll be obvious tomorrow, Robin knows, and from the grin he can feel forming on Guy’s face, knows Guy is obscenely pleased. Robin’s blood is humming through his veins, it pulses in his ears but over it, Robin can hear people, footsteps that are coming down the corridor. Guy doesn't seem to care, pulling Robin into a languorous, open mouthed kiss. ****

****Robin's hands are slippery, wet with their want and desire and it's all he can do now not to bring his fingers to his mouth and discover how Guy really tastes. He's still got his fingers wrapped around Guy's cock, and he squeezes it, watching Guy’s eyes flutter closed again. A tiny moan bubbles up from Guy's throat, but Robin swallows it and Guy lets him.

Robin's shirt is damp with sweat and reeks of dirt and blood and sex and somewhere at the back of his mind he thinks of Much, waiting in the forest. It's this thought that brings his eyes flickering to the left where the wooden box is lying on the ground on its side. It's a sharp reminder that he is Robin Hood and the man pressing against him is Guy of Gisbourne. The kiss continues, slow and languid and without a break in pace, he lets go of Guy's hair.

In one smooth motion, he brings his fist crashing heavily into Guy's temple, the force enough to break the skin on Robin's knuckles, and Guy collapses onto the floor. **  
**

Robin gives himself a moment, just a few inadequate seconds to lean against the cold stones and close his eyes. Every inch of his body is throbbing, the shadow of pleasure slowly receding before the ache of bruises and scrapes. He flexes his hand tentatively, wincing at the pain.

His clothes are in disarray, trousers gaping open, shirt torn and smeared with blood and dirt and the sticky residue of their… Robin thumps his head against the wall. He doesn’t have a word for what they did but _mistake_ comes close.

On the ground, Guy is lying in a motionless slump, out cold. Robin tucks himself in, hesitates, and then bends down to do the same to Guy. It won’t do either of them any good if he’s found like this.

The footsteps are coming closer and the Sheriff’s men will be there any minute. Robin scoops the wooden box from the floor, stuffing it inside his tunic, and hurriedly walks to the window.

There’s a rattle at the door and without a backward glance he climbs over the ledge, landing in a crouch. By the time the soldiers are in, voices raised in alarm, Robin is running toward the tree line. 

He needs to get to the camp, needs to get the box to safety. Resolutely he pushes the memories to the back of his mind until it’s like it never happened.

 _Never happened._

He runs faster, the forest closing around him like a cloak.


End file.
